: r' 



PS 





LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



.^^- r. SJ- 



Shelf -.-SS^ 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



Digitized by tine Internet Arciiive 
in 2010 witii funding from 
Tine Library of Congress 



littp://www.arcliive.org/details/budsblossomspoemOOscliu 



BUDS AND BLOSSOMS 



'1 c- 



BY 



CARRIE V. SCHUELLERMANN. 




PRINTED BY 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY, 

PHILADELPHIA. 



yx-^^^ 



PS 27?'=) 

■Sex 



Copyright, 1890, by Carrie V. Schuellermann. 



TO 

MY MOTHER 

I LOVINGLY DEDICATE THE FIRST EFFORTS 
OF MY PEN, 

BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 



PREFACE. 



In preparing these poems for publication in book 
form, I venture to offer some explanation regarding, 
their issue. 

They are but the buds and blossoms of my girl- 
hood, and I well know their power of expression 
is limited. 

They were written as life and nature appeared 

through my rosy glasses, and I sincerely trust they 

may shed their fragrance in other young hearts, 

and the buds may unfold their timid young petals 

into fair and purer flowers. 

C. V. S. 



I* 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Peace 9 

A Dream 11 

Regret 13 

"Why?" 15 

Amie 18 

Naming the Baky 20 

What is Love? 22 

Man 24 

Life's Hours 26 

Supreme Moment 29 

The Battle oe Life 31 

A Woman's Heart 33 

A Single Word 35 

A Story 38 

The Wife 40 

Love ! .... 43 

Larry Barry's Son 45 

A Proposal 50 

7 



8 CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Jean's Wooing 52 

You AND I 54 

Exile 57 

A Sad Mistake 59 

After the Ball 61 

A Vision 62 

The World's Fair 64 

Drifting 66 

The Stars 68 

In Memoriam ^ . . . . 71 

Kisses 73 



BUDS AND BLOSSOMS, 



PEACE. 



Peace to the world is a stranger; 

She, so gentle, pure, and white. 
With a tender smile, could ease many a trial, 

And turn all darkness to light. 

Hearts that are heavily burdened 
She could soothe with loving care. 

If she would look in eyes that are dim. 
And open them to something fair. 

She travels the world o'er and o'er, 

And shades us day and night 
With a tender wing ; oft this stainless thing 

For awhile makes our lives so bright, 

9 



BUDS AND BLOSSOMS.- 

She would be blended in our lives ; 

But with her a form, so dark and weird, 
Never leaves her side ; by him she abides ; 

She who is sought, he Avho is feared. 

Peace will come, but not alone. 

We will find her, yes ! with another, 
In his fond enfold, like a suitor bold : 

It is Death who to Peace plays the lover. 



A DREAM. 



TO C. E. L. 



It happened last night, ah, yes ! 

You wrapped me close in your arms, 
And for once you seemed to love me. 

Ah, heavens ! how I felt its charms ! 

You drew me closer and closer. 

Until my head rested on your breast, 

And it seemed I had found at last 
A haven of sweetest, eternal rest. 

You whispered the words so softly ; 

They thrilled me through and through. 
Have others been so happy 

In this bliss so old, yet so new ? 

II 



! BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 

It has been the prayer of my Hfe ; 

I have striven so hard for your love, 
And now — you have given it to me, 

My prayer has been heard above. 

The sunlight is coming through my window. 
Yet how dark and cloudy it seems ! 

All the brightness of life has left me ; 

You loved me, — yes, — but only in dreams. 



REGRET. 

Why stand on the grave of your errors, 

My youth, so pale and still ? 
Has life for you so many terrors 

That you linger there against your will? 

Turn, oh, turn! from dead December; 

You have stood by the mound too long ; 
Yonder the sun is shining, remember, 

O'er your thorny path of wrong. 

Leave that gloomy, flowerless sod 
And a nezv life begin rebuilding. 

Take for an architect — your God ; 

Not Satan, with his plaster and gilding. 

2 13 



14 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 

Your mark in the heaven is shining; 

Come, turn your face to the blast. 
Your cloud is showing its lining, 

And dimming forever the past. 

Spend not your time in regretting 
O'er the past, so dim and sad. 

Away, from the grave forgetting, 
And again be joyful and glad. 



"WHY?" 

Young Rudolph, now a child quite fair, 

Is building his blocks high in the air. 

Ah, they come tumbling down with a crash ! 

His pretty air-castles, gone like a flash, 

Bring the tears in the lovely azure eyes. 

And the question from the rosy lips, " Why ?" 

Six years have passed, and now in school 
Naughty Rudolph wears the cap of the fool. 
Cruel punishment, my boy ; it must be done ; 
Your hardship days have just begun. 
He struck you ! well, it will do you good to cry. 
And the sobbing child asks me pitifully, " Why ?" 

What! is this Rudolph, eighteen years of age to-day? 
Your mother turns from you with the word " Nay." 

15 



1 6 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 

You are reeling foolishly ; yes, yes, cursed wine ! 
It will ruin you, my boy, body and mind. 
For mother's sake of this viper keep shy. 
With a reckless laugh he again asks, " Why ?" 

His eyes are flashing at the rolling of the balls. 
What is it ? billiards, pool, only' boys' spoils ! 
Now you have cards, a game of poker — a flush — 
You have lost all ? Stop such language ! it makes 

me blush. 
You are a poor man now, men so cheat and lie. 
And the poor boy murmurs, " Why ? oh ! why ?" 

You speak of one, Rudolph, "so wondrous fair;" 
You have " kissed her lips, caressed her hair." 
She "promised to be yours" one night in a waltz. 
Let women alone, my boy, they are all false. 
You are pale ; what is it ? why do you sigh ? 
You have lost her ? false woman — ah ! , why ? 

He is off now to battle with a heavy heart. 
Weary and sad, from the dear ones must part. 



"WHvr 17 

Blessings go with you, and a mother's prayer, — 
May God watch over you, Rudolph, with care. 
They hold him close and sob and cry. 
He must leave them, yes, yes! but — why? 

Second day — a bullet pierced him ; he is dead. 
He was the first for us his life's blood to shed. 
He lies there so cold, still, and white ; 
All now is over in life's battle and fight. 
Young, so young, for a home in the sky, 
Why was he taken ? Rudolph, my boy, why ? 



2* 



AMIE. 

You ask why I love you, dearie, — 

You who do my heart lure. 
Why does the dew love the lily ? 

Because she is innocent and pure. 

Why do the moonbeams love the billows. 
Swelling so beautiful and blue ? 

Because when the moonbeams seek them 
They find them constant and true. 

There is always a star in the skies 
That shines brighter than the rest ; 

So with your burnished, girlish head 
That lies so oft on my happy breast. 



AMIE. 19 

The rose is the queen among flowers, 

Bhishing red, with a soul of pure white : 

You are the queen among women ; 
Without you my Hfe would be night. 

You know how a tiny spark, Amie, 
Turns so often into a burning flame ; 

You know when we see the violets of spring, 
The sweetness of others is not the same. 

Now do you know why I love }'ou, dearie? 

You are answered, I can see in your face ; 
Your dark eyes tell me the same story. 

Ah, Amie ! come to \'our lover's embrace. 



NAMING THE BABY. 

A TINY bundle, dainty and fair, 
Lay in the fond mother's arms. 

I breathed a fervent, sincere prayer 

For this Httle being of earthly charms. 

But the baby must have a name 
To take through the path of life; 

Will it be a path of grief and pain 
And a heavy, weary, bitter strife ? 

Would the rose be just as bright 

If it had another name ? 
Would baby's soul be just as white 

If we named her again and again ? 
20 



NAMING THE BABY. 

The mother would name her "Adele," 

The father thought of " Grace," 
Another said the name of " Belle" 

Would suit her pretty, tender face. 

An old man then hobbled into the room, 

With hair as white as snow. 
Life for him had but its gloom ; 

He soon would pass from sorrow and woe. 

The silver head bent o'er the one of gold, 
And the dim eyes filled with tears. 

He thought of his life's weary tale, untold 
Through well-near eighty years. 

" What would you name the bab}'. Uncle Ned, 
A name that would suit the tiny dove?" 

The pale lips quivered as their owner said, 
" Name her Health, Happiness, and Love." 



WHAT IS LOVE? 

Tell me what love is ? 
Ah ! a delusion, 
Wrapped in illusion, 
Just fresh from school. 
Graduating dress of tulle 

Tell me what love is ? 
Ah ! a delusion. 
Wrapped in confusion. 
A blush and a kiss ; 
What rapturous bliss ! 

Tell me what love is ? 
Again a delusion, 
Come to a conclusion 
No longer to tarry. 
The word is " marry." 



WHAT IS LOVE? 23 

Tell me what love is ? 
No longer a delusion, 
With girlish effusion, 
But a loving, happy wife 
To pass with through life. 



MAN. 

I AM in a hurry to-night, 
So do not stop me, Jack ; 

What think you of this suit, 
Also of this new cravat ? 

I would sell my soul 

For that Avoman so divine ; 
. I tell you. Jack, I love her, 
And long to call her mine. 

No, I cannot stop for oysters. 
Or even a drink to-night ; 

I feel so sad and disheartened 
When she is from my sight. 
24 



MAN. 25 



ONE YEAR LATER. 



Congratulate me, old fellow ; 

Proposed and accepted. 
Advice asked, counsel given. 

Ma and pa both consented. 

I have won her, and in a year 
I will be tied down to a wife ; 

Must give up wine, cigarettes. 
Club, — in fact, alter my life. 

Well, I must be going ; 

She will be waiting, you see ; 
And, poor, dear little girl. 

She is so awfully fond of me. 



LIFE'S HOURS. 

Life's hours are fast fleeting, 

Hurrying us to our fate; 
Hours of shame, hours of pain, 

To be unveiled at God's gate. 

When the happy sun is shining. 
And hfe seems bright and fair. 

Hours of fear again appear, 

Mingled with the blackest despair. 

When the quiet evenings fall, 
And the sun has gone to rest. 

Hours of sorrow, hours of horror, 
Make the heart weary in our breast. 
26 



LIFE'S HOURS. 27 

The moonlight's silvery beams, 

That shine so pure and white, 
Cannot dim the hour of sin 

That lingers ever in our sis^ht. 



Of sad darkness and clouds 
We all have our share ; 

Of sunshine, of spiced wine, 
We have little to spare. 



Life's hours are all shadowed 
By the many deeds we do ; 

Ever in our mind vividly they shine. 
Like stars in the heaven's blue. 



In the twilight hour of rest, 

When God to His own will near 

Will it be bright or black as night, 
Or will it be an hour of cheer? 



28 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 

That hour that is drawing close, — 
One of peaceful, happy rest; 

No pain to endure, stainless and pure, 
Asleep on our Saviour's breast. 



SUPREME MOMENT. 

Which was the happiest hour 

I spent to-night at the ball ? 
Can you tell me, little flower? 

You on my heart saw all. 

I danced lancers, waltzes, and quadrille, 
With Jack's arm around my waist. 

He whispered my name so low, " Sibyl," 
As he looked tenderly in my face. 

We were in the conservatory together, 
Oh! just for a moment or two, 

To tell him " I would love him ever. 
And always be fond and true." 

3* 29 



BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 

When we returned from the ball, 

Jack reached up and put out the light; 

The supreme moment was in the hall 
When we bid one another " good-night." 



THE BATTLE OF LIFE. 

TO GEORGE WAKEFIELD, JR., OF GERMANTOWN. 

You have much to conquer, my boy, 

To do what you know is right ; 
When you fall in the path of temptation, 

You have a hard battle to fight. 
Stand firm to your glorious manhood. 

Hold high your honoring shield ; 
Strive hard against self and comrades. 

And fall — rather than yield. 

Sin, in her false, gilded beauty. 
Will stand in her battle array. 

Take her not to your young bosom. 
But cast her away ! away ! 

31 



32 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 

She will Sting and poison your bosom, 
If you warm and shelter her there ; 

Turn from her, and show your comrades 
You can shun her dangerous glare. 

Often, through life's battle. 

Press your lips to the root of right ; 
Wrong may bear more blossoms, 

But they wither in a pure light. 
Fight your battle daily, bravely, 

Tire not of the beating of the drum. 
Your gain will be a glorious victory ; 

Falter not, — it will surely come. 



A WOMAN'S HEART. 

The plant of Love, 

Bearing blossoms white ; 
Brilliant-hued, glowing Hope, 

Transparent and bright ; 

Sweet-perfumed Faith, 

Who always seeks the sun, 
And kisses the roots of Pain i 

Gently, firmly, one by one ; i 

Shame, blooming in the shade, ; 

And Honor, who loves the light ; ? 

Many seeds of Patience sown, j 

And a deep-planted root of Right; 5 

33 I 



34 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 

Tenderness and Self-respect, — 
Little seeds of Fears, — 

All are moistened and watered 
With a woman's tears. 

A garden almost sacred, 

Yet in it nettles that smart, — 

Sometimes shady, sometimes sunny 
That is " a woman's heart." 



A SINGLE WORD. 

Without a single word I let you go. 

Nay, was I so much to blame? 
My heart was afire with a burning glow ; 

Your words fanned it into a flame. 

If I could have painted all I felt, — 
Ah, me ! I was a woman weak, — 

I would have at your feet knelt 

And spoke the words I long to speak. 

I weary now for the long ago. 

If I had spoken one word then. 
Would you have kissed me with eyes aglow 

And pressed me to your heart again ? 

35 



BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 

From jest and careless mirth 

I turn. Oh, love ! why did you flee ? 
Do you know how void of worth 

Your absence makes this life for me ? 



Tell me, was it — yes, yes ! — pride 

That sealed my lips that starry night. 

And cruelly cast me from thy side, 
Away forever from thy sight? 



I loved you so, as on your breast 
You gently caressed my happy face ; 

For I in Paradise was blessed, — 

Enfolded, enraptured in fond embrace. 



That night I can ne'er forget, 

With its love, wounded pride, and pain. 
Have you, dear, any regret. 

Or am I only and wholly to blame ? 



A SINGLE WORD. 



If you were here, that single word 
I would whisper softly in your ear; 

Ah, yes ! my voice should be heard 
Without a falter, firm and clear. 



A STORY. 

Only a bundle of letters, 
Tied with a ribbon blue ; 

A bunch of faded flowers 

That once sparkled with dew. 

A picture of a man's face, 

Blotted and stained with tears ; 

The tarnished gold of a ring. 
Old with its weight of years. 

A few bars of music 

Roots up the past again. 

And a silent figure weeps 
O'er the sad, sweet strain. 



38 



A STOJ?Y. 39 

Only a woman's heart broken, 

She alone the pain to bear ; 
Only a woman praying 

Her yearning, pleading prayer. 



THE WIFE. 

Men honored you, women smiled ; 
The applauds were loud and wild. 
You stood there, the king of men- 
I was so proud of you then. 



My glowing expectants were framed 
Honor and a name you had gained. 
I felt as if intoxicated with wine — 
Your fame, love, was mine. 



At the banquet that night 
You still reigned the shining light. 
Your face was firm and proud. 
As you were surrounded by the crowd. 
40 



THE WIFE. 41 

Forgive me, love, but for a moment then 
I almost envied those able men ; 
Your thoughts and theirs were the same ; 
And I stood alone, with a new-born pain. 



It was not jealousy, no ! no, dear ! 
But a feeling of neglect and fear. 
I longed to have your hand in mine ; 
Your eyes into my soul again shine. 



My heart was filled wnth a justice pride. 
But I longed to have you by my side. 
Within that crowd, so large and dense. 
The feeling; of loneliness was intense. 



You came to me when all was o'er, 
And kissed my lips as of yore. 
" You were tired," you said, " and needed rest, 
And laid your head on my happy breast. 
4* 



42 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 

You seemed to me like a weary child, 
So kind, loving, tender, and mild. 
Your heart from the world was free ; 
You thought of naught but me. 

I love your honor, gain, and fame, 

And greatest of all orators' name. 

Forgive me, dear, but I love you best 

When alone, together, your head on my breast. 



LOVE. 

I MET Love in my narrow path, 

As I journeyed on alone ; 
I stopped to smile on the tender child, 

His eyes sparkled and shone. 

We played together, he and I, 
On Fancy's radiant pathway. 

We stood apart ; I threw my heart 
To the merry child of play. 

He caught it with a gleeful cry. 
And folded it close in his embrace; 

Then laughed aloud, exalted and proud, 
At the blushes on my face. 

43 



44 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 

A tempest and fury aroused, 
I trembled in terror and fear. 

" Love," I cried, " come to my side !" 
My voice he did not hear. 

From me he cowardly fled, 

Leaving my crushed heart in the lane. 
This wilful child, I thought so mild, 

I found was a child of pain. 



LARRY BARRY'S SON. 

He had the heart of a gentleman, the ways of a 
tough, 

His honest face was freckled and burned ; 
To describe his hair, to call it red was enough, 

And his nose was decidedly upturned. 
His eyes, — ah, they were honest and blue, 

The broad brow was a noble one ; 
His mouth, — well, it would easily make two, 

Yet he was my hero, Larry Barry's son. 

His coat was much too large for his body, 
While his bony elbows were through ; 

An old torn hat seemed his hobby, 
And his shoes looked far from new. 

45 



46 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 

But under that ragged, threadworn vest, 
Beat a heart in silence and pain. 

For Larry Darry lay at rest. 

And his boy stood alone in his shame. 

Over at last was the wild career 

That Larry Darry had led ; 
Forgotten, too, was his son sincere, 

For Larry Darry's sins were red. 
The hand that had ended it was his own, 

That hand had taken others too ; 
So no one wept ; why should they moan 

For a man with virtues so few ? 

His boy stood alone by the sinner's grave ; 

Through the heavy fingers trickled tears ; 
His face was pale, but the heart was brave, 

As he met the people's scorns and jeers. 
Men and women turned away 

As he walked slowly, sadly by ; 
Young people to him had nothing to say. 

And all the children seemed shy. 



LARRY BARRY'S SON. 47 

As the Sabbath-day was breaking 

He reached the old church door; 
His eyes with weeping were aching, 

And his heart was heavy and sore. 
A look of scorn o'er the people's faces came, 

And their whispers were coarse and loud : 
" A child of sin, a child, of shame, 

Should not in God's house be allowed !" 

The young head was bent low in prayer; 

And surely God heard that one. 
The sincerest, the most fervent, uttered there 

Was from the lips of Larry Barry's son. 
No kind hand was offered to him, 

No welcome, tender eyes met his own ; 
His heart kept repeating, "A child of sin!" 

As he passed out of church slowly and alone. 

Up the main street he sadly went his way. 
The friendly sunlight caressing his face; 

His hat was off and against his breast lay, 
As he walked a slow, dreary pace. 



48 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 

" God knew he was innocent of the sins of his sire ;" 
And his face grew more cheerful and bright, 

When suddenly he heard the wild cry of " Fire !" 
And people rushed madly left and right. 

Up yonder, the church from whence he had come 

Was afire, with the congregation caged in. 
Their screams were loud ; people outside stood dumb. 

With frightened faces and eyes growing dim. 
" If some one would climb through this space" — 

A mere opening — " and unbar the door," 
And the speaker searches every face. 

" He would risk his life, but his children were four." 

Then quickly stepping out from the crowd 

Was the boy they had despised and jeered ; 
His pale, young face was firm and proud. 

As the crowd loudly shouted and cheered. 
With one last look at the people below, 

He crawled through that tiny burning space; 
The people waited in agony and woe 

For his hand to open a saving place. 



LARRY DARRY'S SON. 49 

Suddenly a shout rings out upon the air : 

" Saved ! saved ! The doors are opened, un- 
barred !" 
The people gain their freedom, offering up a 
prayer. 

Thank God ! they are all unharmed, unscarred. 
Such rejoicing ! Children clung to mothers 

When they found that they were free ; 
Wives and husbands, sisters and brothers ; 

But Larry Darry's boy, — where was he? 

Did no one think of that brave young form, 

The child of sin, the child of shame, 
The heart-breaks his young breast had borne, 

As across his mangled body they came ? 
They found him, yes ; bleeding and crushed was 
his breast. 

Where the people in their cruelty and hurry had 
tread. 
They lifted him tenderly, with reverent caress ; 

But Larry Darry's boy — was dead. 



A PROPOSAL. 

In his dark eyes' splendor 

Was reflected his heart. 
The tale I read was so tender, 

It made me tremble and start. 

Yet I waited to hear 

His lips tell me the same. 
He called me his " sweetheart and dear," 

But never asked me to share his name. 

I saw him look in the glass one night 
At his own handsome reflection. 

I knew then why I was the one to slight; 
He received the most attention. 

5° 



A PROPOSAL. 51 

" Paul, do you know on what point we agree ?" 
I asked, looking in his eyes so true. 

" No, I do not," he answered, tenderly. 
" We are both in love with — you." 

(He proposes.) 



JEAN'S WOOING. 

Standing there in thy proud young beauty, 
Meta, 

With those stray locks caressing thy cheek, 
I have striven hard to do my duty. 

But have broken its bonds, and from it shrink. 
Dost thou think 'twixt those stars and this sea. 

With this breathing spring zephyr astir, 
I can keep from whispering to thee 

Of the words spoken by and to me ? 

Were they reahties ? I ask thee, dearest 
Meta, 
Those tiny, sweet words, so treasured by me ; 
And the tenderest, were they the sincerest ? 
Given first so sparingly, then so free. 
52 



JEAN'S WOOING. 53 

Here, by the blue surging ocean, 

Lay thy hand in mine, dear ; 
By the glitter of the young star's emotion, 

Whisper again the words sincere. 

Dost thou love me, fair maiden ? — 
Meta ? 

The pale moon is tinting thy hair. 
With perfume the air is laden ; 

The violets at thy throat are breathing their 
share. 
No need for thy ruby lips to speak 

Again those loving, fragrant words ; 
Thy heart has answered well, methinks, 

In brighting thy eye and reddening thy cheek. 



YOU AND I. 

So happy, you and I, 

Walking through the clover; 
A dew-drop glows on every rose 

And sparkles the grass over. 



So happy, you and I, 

As beautiful blossoms fan our cheeks 
The daisies nod to the golden-rod. 

And the bee sips of the lily's sweets. 



So happy, you and I, 

Pausing at the old farm stile ; 
The moonlight in its mantle of white 

Stops to kiss the roses wild. 
54 



YOU AND I. 55 

So happy, you and I, 

As now the stars dot the skies ; 
I he on your breast, in perfect rest. 

And drink happiness from your eyes. 



So strangely sad am I, 

As I wander along to where 

The daisies nod o'er a grassy sod, 
And whisper, " You lie there." 



So strangely sad am I, 

As the sunlight kisses my face ; 
I want your arm to shield me from harm, 

And nestle again in your fond embrace. 



So strangely sad am I, 

As I stand alone at the mound, ■ 
Where roses bloom around your tomb, 

No trace of my love to be found. 



56 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 

So strangely sad am I 

To realize you have parted from me, 
Your form to mould in the ground so cold, 

And I — oh, God ! help me ! 



EXILE. 



A THROBBING heart, 

For the soul to love 
And ease its earthly smart. 

Nearer, in their fragrant purity, 

They nestle as the years roll away. 

In their rich and firm security, 
Binding closer day by day. 

Beat, Heart, beat, 

In thy sweet ecstasy. 

Meet, Soul, meet. 
As thee to thee. 

57 



58 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 

II. 

A fainting heart, 

Fast dying now, 
And from the soul to part. 

Faintly, faintly, its pulses thrill, 
As clinging to the soul for life ; 

A throbbing pain, — then all is still ; 
Broken in its struggling strife. 

Die, Heart, die, 
Thee lived awhile. 

Sigh, Soul, sigh, 
As into — exile. 



A SAD MISTAKE. 

HE. 

Within the mazes of that dance, 

As I held you to my heart, 
You stabbed me with your magic lance, 

That caused Love's first smart. 

The distant strain, so sad and sweet, 
Came sighing through the air; 

But, ah ! upon your soft white cheek 
A blush was mantled there. 

I felt you tremble in my arms, 

Your long lashes were cast down: 

You too, dear, felt Love's charms ; 

You told me with your eyes of brown. 

59 



6o BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 

Some night, when the Hghts are low, 

I will tell you my story sweet, 
How your face was with love aglow 

In the waltz that made our hearts to meet. 

SHE. 

How strange that at the dance to-night 

The waltz should be the same 
They played one snowy winter night ! — 

That dear, familiar strain. 

It brought it back to me again, 
When I waltzed in Jean's enfold. 

Until it seemed just the same 
As in that night past of old. 

I felt the color mount my cheek 
As the music came soft and low ; 

Then I heard another voice to me speak. 
That brought me back from the lone aeo. 



AFTER THE BALL. 

A GIRLISH vision of loveliness, 

She paused on the stair, 
And bent her pretty face 

'Mid the la France roses rare. 

" Pink roses signify love," 

She gently, blushingly sighs ; 

" Ah, little fragrant blossoms, 

To-night it was reflected in his eyes. 

DE LANEY. 

" Pleasant, lovable time to-night ; 

Little girl was awfully sweet. 
Out ten dollars for la France roses — 

Come, Jack, let us have a drink." 

6 6i 



A VISION. 

A TINY hand, 

A tender face, 
A dainty foot, 

A slender waist. 
A shapely head. 

With golden hair, 
Bright blue eyes, 

And skin so fair. 
A loving smile, 

Teeth like pearls. 
My heart is hers, 

Dearest of girls. 

Lips always ready with a kiss^ 
Places me in a world of bliss. 
Cheeks so rosy, dear little chin, 
So many have tried her to win. 
62 



A VISION. 6;^ 

Happiness passed away, 

Dark and dreary is this day ; 

She loved me, was to be mine ; 

I might have known it was too divine. 

A pale, cold face, 

Dim blue eyes. 
Curtains o'er them. 

To ope' in the skies. 
A white, still form. 

Girlish and fair, 
Ne'er to awaken 

In this world of care. 
Tin\^ hands folded. 

Lay her at rest. 
The head is pillowed 

On her Saviour's breast. 



THE WORLD'S FAIR. 

She was only seventeen, 

With a face wonderfully fair; 

A shining, golden sheen 
Was her lovely, wavy hair. 

The World's Fair we were talking of, 
Monica's eyes shone bright; 

I would rather talk of love 

On such a delicious summer night. 

But Monica stamped her foot 

In her own peculiar way ; 
And Monica's face wore a look 

That showed she would have her say. 
64 



THE WORLD'S FAIR. 65 

Then this dainty little miss, 

Leaning on the arm of my chair, 

Said with such a pretty lisp, 

"Where would you have the World's Fair?" 

Tell me, was I then so bold ? 

As I answered, "I'd have it near," 
And my arm around her stole : 

" Monica, love, I would have it here." 



6* 



DRIFTING. 

What to us is sparkling wine, 

If wasted and spilled at our feet ? 

What to us is warm sunshine, 

If from a dark cloud must peep ? 

What is the flame and flash 
Of the fire's brilliant ray 

But a coal broken with a crash, — 
Now ashes, — to fade away ? 

What is music's sweetest strain, ' 

If followed by a false sound ? 
What in life is a man's gain 
But a grass-covered mound? 
66 



DRIFTING. 67 

What is a picture's beauty 

But a stroke from a painter's brush ? 
What is Hfe but duty, 

With a heavy, weary crush ? 

What is the sound of the ocean 

But a loud, empty roar? 
What is the bHss of emotion. 

If it dies for evermore ? 

Deeds of kindness scattered 

Blossom, bloom, and grow, 
But all are firmly matted 

In the briers and thorns of woe. 

The body, so joyous and gay. 

Is but a single breath ; 
To-morrow a form of clay, 

Claimed by the hand of Death. 



THE STARS. 

WRITTEN FOR A CHILD. 

" Twinkle, twinkle, little star ; 
How I wonder what you are 
Up above the world so high, 
Like a diamond in the sky." 



Can it be the sky is rent and torn. 

And the little stars, deeply set in blue, 

Are the openings made by God 

For the lights of heaven to shine through ? 



Or are they tiny jewelled barks 
Upon a silvery, azure sea? 

They look so frail to earthly eyes, 
But will safely carry you or me. 
68 



THE STARS. 69 

Or can they the children be 

Of the pale moon and rosy sun ? 
And gather round their mother, 

Like our children, when the day is done ? 



They look so glorious and bright, 

Shining far above our reach, 
I wonder if they are crowns for angels ?- 

A sparkling one for each. 



When a soul passes from this earth, 
Does God drop another dot of gold 

Upon that vast stretch of sky, 

So that His love for us is again told ? 



They may be Paradise flowers, 
The angels' fair forget-me-nots; 

Our souls may be the keys to heaven. 
The stars their matins locks. 



70 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 

They teach a sweet lesson in their glitter, 
Shining there so pure and bright : 

They have reached the highest standard, 
Doing always, dearie, what is right. 



IN MEMORIAM. 

If you are not happy with your lot, 

And life seems dark and gray, 
Could you leave the old life unforgot 

For one more bright and gay ? 

Could you leave the mountains white. 
The stars, the sun, the evening moon ; 

The grand old sea in its roar and might. 
The flowers in their tender bloom ? 

The forest trees, the hills and meads. 

Could you leave them all without regret ? 

Human spirits with their noble deeds, 
Could you e'er them forget ? 

71 



72 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 

Would you leave the old life for a new, 
Because in it you had suffered pain ? 

Would you leave it, say I, would you. 
Without sorrow, remorse, and shame ? 

Life, that strange thing, is thine ; 

You must feel its joy and blast ; 
You must taste its sweet and bitter wine ; 

Clouds and shadows, remember, cannot last. 

In your heart do you not cherish 
In memory some dear, happy spot ? 

Will its joy ever, ever perish ? 
Will the old life e'er be forgot ? 

The old life with its many tears. 

Though the next be fair and bright ; 

We will miss it through eternal years, 
It will linger ever in our sis^ht. ' 



KISSES. 

Baby can cry, but cannot talk ; 
Baby can kick, but cannot walk ; 
He can make a fist, but cannot fight ; 
He can sleep all day, but not at night ; 
He can creep on the floor 
Just as far as the door; 
His dresses so white 
Are black at night. 

But this tin}' child, so noisy and wild, 
Can change a fi'own into a smile 
With his soft kisses, kisses. 

Bab can tell little white lies, 
Bab can talk with her eyes ; 
Bab can laugh, Bab can pout, 
Bab can sa}- " that she is out." 

7 73 



74 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 

She can cook, she can paint, 
She can love, she can hate ; 
Your heart she will own, 
If, with her alone, 

With her tender face and her girlish grace, 
You fold her in your fond embrace 
And give her kisses, kisses. 

Seated in an old arm-chair. 

With a head of silver hair, 

Is the form I love so dear. 

Who guided me through joy and fear. 

My mother's face is growing white. 

Mother's eyes have lost their sight ; 

Her heart is warm 

In sunshine and storm. 

In sorrow, in shame, in pleasure and pain, 

Mother's love is just the same, 

Mingled with her kisses, kisses'. 

Here in a narrow coffin bed 
Rests a weary, aching head ; 



AVSSES. 75 

The form so cold, so icy cold, 
Has been clasped in a last enfold. 
Resting now so still and white, 
All is ov^er in life's fight. 
A form once dear 
Lies slumbering here : 

With a clinging caress, he was claimed by Death. 
My lips- ne'er will feel his breath 
Or his tender kisses, kisses. 



Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 
Neutralizing agent; Magnesium Oxide 
Treatment Date: Oct. 2009 

PreservationTechnologies 

A WORLD LEADER IM COLLECTIONS PRESERVATIOH 

111 Ttiomson Park Drive 
Cranberry Township, PA 16066 
(7241 779-2111 




■■■~^t!,T.°'', CONGRESS 



015 871 618 5 • 



